


A Foundation of Scars

by viceversa



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Intimacy, Scars, explosion mention, injury mention, torture mention, your honor they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceversa/pseuds/viceversa
Summary: In the wake of Masahun’s arrest, Jack and Gibbs retreat to his house to decompress. One thing leads to the next, and the story of their scars are shared at Jack’s suggestion.Post 15x24 and 16x01 (The Masahun episodes)
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 18
Kudos: 87





	A Foundation of Scars

Leon was home, Kayla was safe, Jack was unscathed, and Masahun was captured with enough evidence to put him away forever. And even though Gibbs was still stuck as the Interim Director, and therefore stuck with more paperwork than he’d seen in most of his career combined, he was deeply relieved that the present troubles were settled. 

Exhausted, but relieved. He had found a lot of empathy for what his team had gone through on this side when he and McGee were in Paraguay for two months. That kind of worry borders too close to helplessness for his liking.

The last month was full of horror, both personally and on a scale that no one could have foreseen. Learning what Jack had been through had cut him up inside, and he was still reeling from telling her his own secret - about what happened after Shannon and Kelly. But for her tormentor to still be alive and for him to have taken Leon - the one who saved her from him - he couldn’t imagine the strain she was under. 

And then weeks went by. 

Weeks went by with no leads, with hush plans and more than one sleepless night spent with Jack in his home, drinking and trying to solve the problems they faced. In fact, there were more of them than not, if he thought about it. 

But it was over. Two days over; two days of statements and evidence collecting and double checking that all of their paperwork was solid enough to hold up, and it was the weekend. Gibbs signed enough paperwork as Interim Director to be let off the hook for the weekend, and his own team was out of rotation - including Jack. He stopped by her office on his way out, late on Friday, and knocked on the half-open door. 

Gibbs stuck his head in and saw her staring blankly at the computer. “Jack? Ya done for tonight?” 

“What?” She forced movement, and Gibbs saw how off she was. He couldn’t blame her. “Oh, wow, look at the time. I should be done.” She didn’t move. 

“Jack,” he said again, and waited for her to make eye contact. She looked up at him through her reading glasses and he saw her shoulders slacken slightly. “Let’s go. I’ll drive, if ya want.”

He watched as she considered the offer - a familiar one from the last few weeks. He would drive her to his home where the promise of alcohol and like-minded company resided. Usually, they strategized and tried to keep busy, working until one of them was tired enough to catch some sleep. Tonight, he wasn’t sure what they would talk about, but he knew he’d rather spend the evening with her than alone. 

Admitting that was a step he tried not to think about too much. 

“Yeah, that sounds good, thank you,” she said. 

Gibbs looked around the office as she shut down her computer and gathered her things, eyes staring blankly through the ink-spot canvas she’d rehung after finishing her new paint job. He had to admit, the soft white was a good change from the glaring two-tone orange. It felt more like Jack. 

“Let’s hit it, Cowboy.”

Gibbs stepped back to allow her through the doorway. “After you,” he said. 

-

The pizza Jack called for when they left the Navy Yard nearly beat them home. Gibbs dealt with the tip and changed into sweatpants and a hoodie while Jack grabbed a chilled six pack from the fridge, neither of them having the patience for a fireplace meal that night. Jack clicked on the old TV and settled near Gibbs on his couch, finding an old movie to fill the silence as they ate. 

The silence lasted until the pizza was nearly gone, and after their second beer each. Gibbs felt Jack shift and it caught his attention. 

“After Afghanistan,” she started, “I was really screwed up.”

So it would be that kind of conversation. Thankful for the beer, Gibbs leaned back on the couch and looked at Jack, waiting and listening. 

She flicked her eyes to his, then continued to look forward. 

“Really screwed up for months,” she continued. “Like, painting my office last month - I had a manic episode, basically. A result of too much energy and stress, and no way to let it out. I had a lot of days like that after... after I came back. It took a long time to understand my PTSD. I wasn’t able to sleep through the night until I’d heard about the drone strike. ”

Gibbs shifted to show he was still listening. This was her way to decompress, and he felt good that she trusted him with this. That was one thing they had both shown in the last weeks - a trust that was sacred. He watched as she played with her empty bottle, determined to continue.

“Seeing him - hearing him again after all these years, it brought everything to the surface. You witnessed most of it. I swear when I first heard him, I could feel every scar on my back reopen, and for the next day every brush against my wrists was like being bound. Every breath, wondering if that’s the last one before he comes back.” 

“It will never be okay,” Gibbs answered back, softly echoing her own words from a month ago. 

She looked at him again, this time holding his gaze. “You know, I barely remember the after. The right after, when Vance and his team transported us out. Me and Kelb. I could barely speak, but I knew I was safe - at least safer. Because he was still out there. It was like I was losing time. I was there in that hole for so long, nothing outside seemed real.”

Gibbs nodded in understanding. The time after a trauma like that was unreal.

“I was there, then in Europe - I’m not even sure where the first hospital was. I remember being debriefed. Maybe Germany - I’m sure it’s in my file. Then we were flown in to DC, and eventually I was sent to California to recover. Leon helped me get a job at NCIS, but it took years for me to get to that point.” She set the empty bottle down heavily on the coffee table.

He could see where she was headed. “And now that this is over, it seems not real again,” said Gibbs. 

Jack nodded minutely and leaned back next to him, her hands twisting against one another. “Masahun.... he ruined my life, as it was. And then he came back, and then he got away, and he took Leon with him. He had him for a month. It should’ve never happened.” 

“He had you for nine.” Gibbs reached out and put his large hand over both of hers, stilling their movement before she hurt herself. She didn’t push him away, so he disentangled a hand and pulled it to his leg, holding it more fully.

Jack took a deep breath beside him, letting the low sounds of the movie fill the silence for a few beats before she continued. 

“I really thought I was going crazy, you know? After the date, after I got arrested. Up until I saw him again and I knew... I just didn’t trust myself.”

“He was supposed to be dead, Jack.” 

“I know. I know, but it still isn’t good to not trust yourself, even for a day. But then... Operation Cuckoo’s Nest.” She smiled tightly at the name. “Thank you for that. You trusted me, helped me when I wanted to rush and make a bad move, trusted me to play crazy.”

Gibbs shrugged, the movement leaning him closer to her, their shoulders brushing. “You saved Leon, Jack. You got him back, you paid your debt. We got that bastard. The plan we came up with worked.” 

“Yeah, well. It took too long.”

Jack leaned forward enough to grab their two remaining beers and handed one to him, reluctantly breaking their hold. Gibbs didn’t know what to say, so he let her guide what happened next. 

She took a long pull from the bottle and sighed, then leaned her head on his shoulder and gave her hand back willingly. He froze at the touch, trying not to tense up. As serious as their conversation was - as they had been in the last month - he knew there was something working its way up to the surface between them that was a year in the making. Would it be acknowledged tonight, among the rest of what she had to say? All he could do was hold on to her hand and be a steady presence.

The silence pervaded the room, both of them taking measured sips and staring at nothing, processing the week, the month.

“You saved me too, Gibbs.”

The admission was nearly too soft to make out. Gibbs turned and looked at the top of her head on his shoulder, moved by her tone.

“Jack…” he breathed.

“If I had just gone through with - with my revenge fantasy, I don’t even know. I would’ve ruined everything, Gibbs. God knows if Leon would still be here, Kayla. Me. I really... I would’ve crossed a line and never come back from it.”

“I wouldn’t’ve let you do that, Jack. Not gonna happen,” he reassured.

“But I -”

Gibbs turned to her and made his stance clear. “I woulda dragged you back, Jack. I’m not lettin’ you go. Not anywhere.”

A second passed and Gibbs saw a switch flick in her mind, and then she kissed him. 

Soft and stable, no pressure or rush or anything but exactly Jack’s lips against his, a year in the making. He returned the steady pressure and tightened his grip on her hand, and when she pulled back he didn’t panic. It was the right time. 

For the kiss, at least. Maybe not more. His gut gave him a tentative warning, a caution sign for both of their benefits. 

“This isn’t a good idea right now, is it,” Jack said. Her mouth was still close enough to his that he felt every word on his lips.

“You tell me, Doc,” he said, his voice coming out much lower than he expected. 

She gave a small smile that felt a little too sad, a little too restrained for his liking, and he wished for the power to make it all better for her. 

“Maybe it is, I don’t know.” 

At that, Gibbs kissed her again, matching the steady pressure he’d received before, pushing only slightly to show her what he felt. “I’m not going anywhere. Whenever we do this.” 

Her next smile showed him it was the right thing to say. Unbidden, Grace’s voice came into his head, something about  _ ‘Living in the moment, Popeye.’ _

“You want this too, don’t you?” she asked quietly. 

Gibbs gathered his thoughts for a second, not wanting to say the wrong thing. 

“I’ve spent most of my adult life stuck in the past. A very smart girl once told be that it’s not about that anymore - that I  _ have _ to think about the future. That there are people who depended on me, and things to look forward to.” He made sure to look at her straight on. “I look forward to you, Jack.”

She couldn’t hide her blush in his shoulder, but she tried anyway and he kissed the top of her head.

A silent interlude followed, both of their gazes somewhere halfway between the movie and their entwined hands, both nearly done with their last beers of the night. It was a moment so normal and so absent in Gibbs’ life, he felt like he was floating, and he had already made the decision to give in to the night, to the rest of however long they were…  _ this _ .

“Gibbs,” she broke the silence again. “I don’t want this to just be… this. And nothing else.”

He made a noise of acknowledgement, of encouragement. “Mmm?”

Jack took a deep breath, letting it out slowly in a way that nearly did him in. “I didn’t want to go on that date, you know, a month ago. He was a nice enough guy, and maybe I’ve been lonely, but all I could think about was how much better a night it would have been if I was in your basement instead. Or in your bed.” 

“Jesus, Sloane,” he whispered. There was a quiet intimacy in the space between their heads, and he was drunk off it. The moment dragged into the next, then he felt an energy go through Jack, making her turn to him.

She bit her lip, which further pulled him into whatever spell she had him under. Well, that, plus exhaustion, plus three beers and half a pizza.

“I have an idea,” she said.

“What?”

“It’s.. it may sound weird. But hear me out.”

Oh, hell. He’d do anything she asked. “Okay, Jack.”

“We get naked.”

_ “What!”  _

“Listen!” her eyes gleamed. “We - we get naked and we talk about... the scars. Our scars. Think of it as a way to... break through those barriers we both have. I told you my secret, you told me yours, but this is... physical and emotional intimacy.”

He raised his eyebrow, entirely not following her after his mind went sideways when she said ‘naked.’ Her ability to energize him at any given moment was unmatched.

“Not sex. Not tonight. But stories, and the scars to go with them. It’s… it can be good, you know? We both have walls that are so damn high. If you want more… us, what I want. This is a step?” 

Gibbs was more than hesitant - what would that solve? But Jack was asking him. 

“Just, try it with me?” 

“Jack…”

Her next words came out in a rush. “I don’t want to just kiss you tonight because we’re drinking and exhausted. I want more than that. I want us in the future, this weekend, tomorrow. And it might be weird and not helpful all, but, go with me on this?”

Gibbs let another second pass, checking her eyes and seeing nothing but sincerity, nothing but Jack, and relented. 

At his slight nod, Jack electrified next to him and rose, clicking off the TV as she moved. “Let’s go upstairs?”

Gibbs followed her, suddenly hopeful he was going to be following her for the rest of his life. 

-

Gibbs allowed Jack to set the pace for whatever this experiment entailed. She obviously had been thinking about this for a while, about how to bring it up and try, maybe since she had told him about Afghanistan. Maybe she thought about the future - the after of Masahun, because there wasn’t a question of if they would get him, only when. 

Maybe he was the one who was thinking about the future this month.

But this was the perfect storm of timing and liquid courage, and if this was their first move together he was going to go through it with her. For her. This wasn't a normal conversation between friends. They both knew that they were about to cross that uncrossable line. This act to explore, to uncover the secrets of and try to understand the past - it was more than just comparing scars, it was about absolute trust, and no more secrets. At least not these types of secrets. The ones that matter when you're naked with another person and entirely vulnerable.

Gibbs never cared much about it, but he also never shared. Scar or no scar, he wasn't that open with his bed partners. Physical scars were fine. They were almost badges of honor - of work done well and sacrifices made in the line of duty. They were expected of men like him, all in the line of duty. But in the last few decades, there were more scars than not, it seemed, and they were more connected to the hurt inside him.

Gibbs sat on his bed and watched as she prepared the room - shutting the door for security and turning on the bedside lamps, and he saw the exact moment she hesitated as she stepped toward him. 

“So…” he drug out, seeing her apprehension and feeling the urge to curb it. “Show a scar, tell a story?”

“That's the gist,” she said, near sheepish. 

“For physical and emotional… intimacy.” He was proud to not have cringed at the word. Maybe that damn book that Fornell had left at his place had done its job.

Her shoulders dropped. “We don’t have to-”

Before she could back out, he caught her hand and guided her down next to him, deciding he would go first. 

Gibbs cleared his throat and pointed at the stark white scar under his eye to start, forcing the words out that she wanted. “Paraguay.” 

Jack followed his gesture and delicately touched the line with her thumb, her gaze finding other scars on his face as she looked closer. 

“Eyebrow’s been busted a few times. Don’t even remember.”

She nodded, and he took off his hoodie and undershirt, knowing it was where most of his scars resided. He pushed down the sudden awareness of them and pointed to a jagged scar on his upper right arm. “Grenade. Over a decade ago on a case in Columbia.” 

She reached out and touched it, gently following the pale lines with her fingers and eyes. Her fingers found another scar near it, questioning with her eyes. 

“Flesh wound. A kid. We arrested his dad. His only family.”

Her hand shifted to a bullet wound, this time in his left. 

“Through and through. Terrorist in autopsy.” Sloane’s eyes darted up to his. “A story for another time.” His eyes remained dark, Ari haunting him from the grave. It was a lifetime ago, but the evidence lived right there on his arm.

Suddenly, something clicked in his head, as to why she wanted to do this. It made sense. 

He cut off her exploration for a second, explaining some of the smaller marks scattered around his body. “I’ve been in two main explosions. One over a decade ago, on a boat we had an op on, and another in Kuwait. ‘91.” He illustrated, gesturing vaguely to the wide, flat scars on his arm, a few on his leg. He pointed at the left side of his face. “Had a few skin grafts too. Those scars are mostly gone, now. Been blown up more times than I can count, actually. House. Boat. Kid on a bus. Can’t hear what people say outta my right ear half the damn time.” 

Gibbs felt more than a little off balance. He’d never told anyone about that. He’s aware he’s always kept things close to his chest, even buried deep inside. No one was ever privy to that part of his life. 

God, he thought. Jack knew more about that than anyone else. More than just the facts in reports.

Focus shifted to his hands. “That bus... got some burns on my hand from that. Can’t really see them. But it was just a kid. And you can’t really see it now, but that finger was broken, shot through. An agent named Michelle Lee. Didn’t have a choice.” He pointed this red and always swollen finger joint, her hands following along with his, touching every mark she could see. “Paraguay, again. A lot of the others on my hands are from woodworking.”

Jack took both his hands in hers, and he let her have a second as he thought about what he would say next. 

He gently released one of his hands and pointed to his side, to a gunshot wound. “Colombia, again. Got helped by a local.”

Electricity passed through him when she smoothed her hand over his side, then it trailed up to the scar going down his chest. 

“Tried to help another kid,” he said, quietly, the memories fresh. “Put two bullets in me, got my leg first. That’s why I was forced into that damn knee replacement. Then just under my heart.”

Jack’s hand flattened on his chest and he saw her back shudder. “Ah, Jack.” He drew her in and she broke, crying softly. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just so much.”

“I know.” Gibbs held her for a minute and shifted. “Come ‘ere.” He turned and laid back on the bed, guiding her crawl over him and up to his side. “I’m here.”

Jack didn’t take long to calm her tears, but remained against his chest, her hand moving back and forth. 

“Did I do alright? I’m missin’ a few.”

Jack huffed out a laugh and levered herself up. “I think you’ve done more than enough, Cowboy. I’ll ask if I run into more.”

Gibbs shifted at the thought of her exploring more of him and tried to focus. “Your turn?” he nudged, feeling like she needed the prompt. He relished the feeling of her relaxing down against him, her hand continuing to move across his skin.

“I’ve been with men who saw my scars, and didn’t say a word. But they always acted different, after,” she started. “A few did ask, and others never got a chance to see anything.”

Gibbs got it. “It’s a lot of story to tell. To trust someone with.”

“Not to mention a total turn off.”

He grinned at her tone. 

“You know the story now.” Jack sat up and began to unbutton her shirt. “The newest are small, from the car bomb last year. I’ve got one on my ankle from surgery when I broke my leg as a kid. I have a few from the Army before…” she trailed off, turning in bed to take off her shirt fully.

Gibbs sat up behind her and watched as she removed her bra, showing the full, ragged path of the scars down her back, the shadows deepened amongst them in the glow of the lamps behind them. 

“Masahun spread out torture over nine months. He had new games every handful of days for a while, and sometimes a few weeks went by with nothing at all. Just us alone, in the rooms, chained up.”

Gibbs reached out his hand, needing the connection, mirroring what she did with him. When he touched her back, just below where the scars started, she shuddered but leaned into his touch so he continued to explore. He was gentle, he’d always be gentle with her, but firm enough to show no hesitation. 

“I was hooked up to a car battery, at one point. We all were.” One of her hands came around to her side, smoothing over small scars up and down her side. Gibbs’ free hand found her fingers, then the skin underneath, feeling those as he kept his right hand pressed steady into her back. 

Her hand smoothed over his on her side and stayed there. “The scars on my wrists have faded, but they still ache sometimes. When… when I got back, I was so angry, Gibbs. I was restless, drank too much and got into fights. I didn’t save my friends, so I didn’t feel like I should save myself.”

Her voice dropped and he took his cue, pulling her back against him. What a picture they made, her in leggings and him in sweatpants, both topless and half asleep from the week. 

“I’ve been there, Sloane,” he said, her last name filling his mouth just as reverently as her first. “I understand.”

His last statement meant more than just that - meant the whole night, meant her, meant them.

She turned toward him and made eye contact that felt like everything sliding into place. “I know you do.”

To kiss her after that was natural, to hold her against him that night even more so, after they’d changed into comfortable clothing and brushed their teeth. She pointed out another scar on her thumb under the bathroom lights, small but wide. 

“Tried to open a beer without an opener. Should’ve got a stitch, but didn’t want the beer to go flat.”

He chuckled and kissed the small mark on her thumb, entirely endeared by her.

A new routine established, side by side, a clean slate laid over exposed scars and stories. A foundation for tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. He’d show her his scars forever, if she asked.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a different tone that I usually take with Slibbs, but this idea has been bugging me for a while, hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
